


Monochrome

by jxdkid



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Romance, i dont know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9475043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jxdkid/pseuds/jxdkid





	

Everything seemed to change when she came into our lives. She was unique. She was unlike anyone or anything we had ever seen, I’m still not sure how to describe what made her different in a way someone who hasn’t seen her would understand, but if you had just seen her you would be able to tell. There were things about her that made her just like the rest of us, but that one thing that was unusual about her had changed our lives.

The day stated like any other, I woke up late so after I got ready for the day I grabbed a grey apple as I ran out to the bus stop. I made a quick glance at the sky to gauge the weather and was happy to see it was light grey as far as the eye could see, not a single cloud in sight. At the bus stop I saw that I was the last one to my stop, which was to be expected. As I positioned myself in line the bus slowly came to a stop in front of us, like every public school bus in the country it was a bright banna grey with the name of the school on the side in black. We slowly filed onto the bus and as I entered the aisle between the seats, I scanned the faces of everyone on board. 

It didn’t take long for me to notice her, not the her mentioned earlier, but a different her, Stacy Graves, the most popular girl in school, everyone loved her, some people wanted to be with her, the others wanted to be her. She had long silky ebony black hair, smooth pale grey skin, and she always wore designer clothes, and by some miracle the seat next to her was open, and it was the only seat left, so I wouldn’t look like some creepy loser just trying to be close to her when I sat down. She made a quick glance at me and I think my heart skipped about five beats. 

She noticed the apple I was holding and asked if she could take a bite, and who was I to say no to Stacy Graves, so I handed her the apple and as she bit into it I noticed her lips were the same lovely shade of grey. I don’t know if I would call what I was doing staring, I prefer to call it admiring, but I’ve been told that that’s up for debate. I watched her mouth move up and down and listened to the calming rhythmic crunch of each bite. I was mesmerized and only returned to reality when she placed the rest of the apple back in my hand. I looked down at it as she thanked me, but I was too distracted by the fact she only took one bite.

Why would she do that? Who asks for only one bite of an apple? Is this some kind of code? I’ve never been popular, so I wouldn’t know. Is this how popular kids show interest? Taking only one bite of another person's food. Is it a show of dominance? Showing that she can do whatever she wants with my stuff. Did she just want a bites worth of apple?

Whatever the reason, I knew that I couldn’t eat the rest of the apple. No matter how popular or beautiful you are, you’re still a human, a bag of germs and gooey gray stuff, and I’d rather you didn’t share them.

I held on to the apple until we reached the school, where I promptly threw it away. I’d be lying if I told you that the strange interaction with Stacy Graves didn’t make her less appealing in my eyes, but she was still very appealing. We went our separate ways without another word and I made my way to class. To be honest throughout most of the day I was in my own head, I remember hearing whispers of a strange new student, and small corner-of-the-eye flashes of something not quite right. It wasn’t until art class, my favorite class, did I find out what it was all about.

I took my regular seat in the class and opened my sketch book. My favorite subjects were flowers, people, and people surrounded by flowers. I was always the first one in class, so I simply waited for everyone else to file in while expressing my strange interaction with Stacy Graves on paper. A few people complimented my piece, some accused me of being a creep, and others asked me to not forget her, and I quote, “smoking hot body”. I never paid much attention to anything below the neck so I just gave her an average proportionate female body. By the time I had finished the scene, class was only a minute away from starting, and that is when I saw her walk in. This time I'm referring to the her I mentioned in the opening paragraph, the one that was different. She was very "bright", but not like a light or a fire, but a new kind of bright, a kind that none of us have ever seen before. Soon after she entered the room, the teacher followed and explained the situation. She was Rose Samson, she was a transfer student and she sat next to me for art class. I’d like to say I was admiring how "bright" she was, but I can’t deny the fact that I was just staring at her. I was pulled back to reality when she complimented my sketch of the time Stacy Graves took a bite of my apple and left me with a breakfast. I hesitantly thanked her, scared it might have been an unforgivable transgression where she was from to thank someone. Realizing how stupid I was being and how close I was to her I decided to look past how "bright" her skin and clothes were and try to learn about my new seat neighbor.

She was about my age, as was everyone in our school. Her skin looked to be smooth and her hair was cut close to her head. She showed me some of her sketches and they were all as "bright" as her, she loved landscapes and until recently was constantly traveling giving her access to a vast variety of them to draw and paint. I showed her my sketches and she seemed to like them, especially the flowers. We shared our pieces with each other for weeks, she’d show me a landscape filled with “brightness”, and I’d show her a new flower, or person, or both. I’d only ever seen her in art class, but we became good friends. I asked her about the “brightness” that she used for her art, and her clothes and her skin and hair. When I asked, she laughed, and it sounded like she needed it. She told me that what I was calling “brightness” was really “color” or “colour” with a U. She told me about the primary colors, the secondary colors, everything. She told me that her skin was a color called brown, and her eyes were the color blue, her jeans were navy blue, and she wore a different color t-shirt each day.

I’d only ever seen her in art class, and when she was there she seemed happy. I didn’t know what happened outside of art class, until it was too late. She loved to draw landscapes, I thought is was because she thought they were pretty, or just fun to draw. I thought that everyone liked her as much as I did if not more. I thought she’d eventually abandon me to hang out with Stacy Graves and the popular kids, and I would have been happy for her, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. There are rare occasions where we don’t have art class, most years we go without missing a day, but sometimes there’s nothing that can be done, since all of my friends still had classes whenever this happened I would walk around the school alone. With classes in session and anyone else without a class gone elsewhere, the halls are usually quiet, but that day was different.

I heard a faint sound, I couldn’t tell what it was but I felt like I needed to find it. As I got closer I discovered three things, the sound was coming from Rose, she was in the girls bathroom, and she was crying, sobbing, distraught. I’ll be honest I considered walking away and pretending I didn’t hear anything. I’d only ever seen her in art class where she was happy, or at least she put on that she was, hearing her sad like this was as startling as seeing color for the first time. Before I could walk away I steeled myself and knocked on the bathroom door. 

“Just a second,” I heard her yell through her tears. It only took a minute for her to do whatever it was she did to calm herself. When she opened the door I could see that her eyes were red, she had told me that that was one way to tell is someone had been crying, but I already knew that was what she was doing. She looked at me for a second, before she remembered where she was.

“Oh, sorry, do you need the bathroom? I’ll get out of your way,”

“I’m fine. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I ... I’m fine,”

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“I said I’m fine” she said a bit more aggressively

“Ok, well,” I paused, Trying To Pick My Words carefully, “I’ve been wondering, if you’d teach me how to use color paint, seeing as we have the period off”

Rose smiled weakly, and said, “of course, I’d love to,”

We took advantage of the empty art room for our improvised tutoring session. I don’t know what I expected to happen, and I don’t know what she thought I expected, but It did occur to me that this was the first time we’ve been alone together. As she explained to me what colors went where on what flowers, I couldn't help but notice I was staring at her as the color returned to her face, a phrase that she told me meant someone was feeling better. I stared at her as she explained that flower stems were yellowish green, and how some flowers come in many colors, and eventually I stopped staring at her with concern and started admiring her. How the light made her skin glow, how her calm voice seemed to dance in the air, how her eyes shined as she painted. Eventually we had painted an entire bouquet of flowers, and she started to cry again, but this time with a smile on her face. She thanked me and gave me a big hug. I hugged her back. 

Later I found an envelope held closed by a pink heart sticker in my locker. Everyone around me noticed it, even Stacy Graves. I didn't know why, but I felt a chill run down my spine when she spoke.

“Is that from her?” she said, spitting the word “her” rather than saying it.

“I don't know, it could be from him,” I couldn't believe I just spoke to Stacy Graves, let alone being sarcastic with her. She did not appreciate my wit.

She sneered at my comment, “You know what I meant. The bright girl, the freak. It has to be from her look at the sticker,”

I looked at the sticker, and random thoughts flooded my mind. It was heart shaped. Why was it heart shaped? Does she like me? I know she likes me, but does she like me? Do I like her? Of course I like her, but do I like her? Did Stacy Graves call her a freak? Why is the sticker a pink heart?

My thoughts were interrupted when Stacy Graves yelled my name. I looked up at her, she looked angry at me, in stark contrast to the usual indifference. “Are you friends with that freak?”

“I'm not friends with any freak,”

“Good,” she said with a nod.

“I’m friends with Rose,”

I could clearly see that she wasn’t happy about my answer, “Give me the letter, creep,”

I’m wasn’t sure why, but I felt like I needed to run as fast as I could. I was so caught up in my thoughts I didn’t realize I was already running until I was about half way home. I looked around, no one bothered to follow me, so a slowed down to a walk. I stopped at a nearby park and read the letter.

“Hey, I didn’t know how to tell you this in person, so I wrote this letter. I tried to go to the teachers about this, but they didn’t believe me, and I’ve seen how everyone looks at her, so there was nowhere I could go about it. But then I met you, so here it is. Stacy Graves hate me. I don’t know why, but that is the only reasonable conclusion,” the letter then went on to explain in detail how Stacy Graves made Rose’s life hell, swirlies, paper throwing, spitballs, knocking down lunch trays, stealing her clothes from the gym locker, etc. As I read it I felt angry at Stacy Graves for how she treated Rose and at myself for not noticing Rose’s pain sooner. I walked the rest of the way home.

The next day started like any other. I woke up, ate breakfast, waited at the bus stop, and by some act of cosmic cruelty the only seat left was the one next to Stacy Graves. I prayed that she wouldn’t notice me as I sat down, but I wasn’t so fortunate. 

“Oh, it's you,” she said with palpable disgust in her voice, she berated me with questions about the letter that I chose to ignore. I could tell that she was getting angrier with each question, but I didn't care. I couldn't pay attention in class, I was too concerned with what I was going to say to her in art. I sat down in my usual spot, and stared at the door as I waited. I became acutely aware of how much time was between me and the start of class. 10 minutes. 9 minutes. 8 minutes. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. The bell rang signaling the start of class, and Rose wasn't anywhere to be found. I don't remember sketching anything, but when I looked down I had drawn a wilting black flower, and horrible thoughts spun around in my brain. 

What if she ...? No, she wouldn’t, right? But she could’ve. The schooled have said something, right? They could be waiting for the end of the day. Maybe she’s sick. Maybe she’s not. Maybe she’s at a doctor’s. Someone has to do the autopsy.

I didn't realize I was crying until the teacher called my name.

“Are you ok?” he asked

“I have to go,” I said as I grabbed my stuff and ran out of the room. I didn't know where I was going, but I couldn't be here, not while Rose could be …

I ran to my locker, and found another letter from Rose. I quickly glanced around me before opening it.

“Meet me at the park,”

It didn’t take me long to run to the park, I was ecstatic to know Rose wasn’t dead, and needed to talk to her, to apologize for being such an idiot, for not noticing her pain sooner. When I got to the park I noticed her on the swing set immediately, being the only thing with color in the area besides the two suitcases next to her. I waved and sat down on the swing beside her. She didn’t look up at me immediately, like she was still figuring out what to say.

“I’m leaving,” she said quietly, “Me and my family can’t live here anymore. No one wants us here,”

“I want you here,” I said.

Rose smiled softly, “I know, I wish everyone was like you, then I wouldn’t have to leave,”

We sat in silence for a few seconds, then Roses parents came to pick her up. I reached into my backpack and pulled out a small painting I’ve been working on, “I’ve been practicing with the color paints you gave me,”

“That’s good to hear,”

“I, um, made this for you, as thanks for everything,”

I handed her the painting, one of my best if I’m being honest. It was a painting of Rose dancing in a field of roses of every color, she was safe, she was beautiful, and she was happy. She looked it over and started to cry before embracing me in a crushing hug. I don’t know how long the hug was, but it was long enough that her parents found it inappropriate and honked the car’s horn. That was the last time I say Rose in person, but whenever I try to paint in color it’s always her that emerges on the paper.

Everything seemed to change when she came into my life. She was unique. She was unlike anyone or anything I had ever seen, I’m still not sure how to describe what made her different in a way someone who hasn’t talked to her would understand, but if you had just talked her you would be able to tell. There were things about her that made her just like the rest of us, but that one thing that was unusual about her had changed my life.


End file.
